


A Sheriff Walks into a Bar...

by ArcticLucie



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Brothels, Cowboy slang, Dirty Talk, M/M, Poetry, Prostitution, Saloon, Wild West, historically accurate uncut dicks, power bottom Rick, rodeo euphemisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 01:37:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5478416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArcticLucie/pseuds/ArcticLucie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dixon brothers are the proud owners of the Double D Saloon in the Ol' West where they both have an unlimited supply of whores ripe for the picking...only problem is, Daryl's looking for someone a little more rough around the edges, someone that doesn't mind taking him out for a good ride. Someone that looks a lot like the man who just walked in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Sheriff Walks into a Bar...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MermaidSheenaz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MermaidSheenaz/gifts).



> I must thank my lovely muse Sheenaz for gifting me this plot bunny when she was reading through ["Crammed In."](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5375555) I put far too much time in researching for a one-shot, but I'm a history nerd like that, so it has got a lot of historical accuracy to it (history lesson in the end notes) but also has lots of pop culture things buried in there as well. It was so much fun to write, and I hope it is equally as fun to read. Enjoy!

“A Sheriff walks into a bar…”

When Daryl didn’t say anything else, Merle looked up from the wad of cash he was counting and elbowed him in the side. Merle was the only saloon owner this side of the Mississippi brash enough to count his earnings out in the open, but everyone knew you didn’t mess with the Dixons.

“What’s a matter baby brother? Them blue balls make ya forget the punch line?”

“Fuck off, Merle,” Daryl glared before turning his attention back towards the tall drink of water that just walked in. His balls were only part of the problem, the rest he blamed on the eyes staring back at him. The stranger’s gun was sitting heavy against his thigh with bowlegs begging to be wrapped around a violin, and Daryl wouldn’t mind offering to be the stand-in. “It weren’t no joke,” he added with a nod towards the lawman.

And he had to be a lawman; no one else could carry themself with that much authority as he stood a few steps inside the doorway and surveyed the bar. His hands were planted on his hips, Stetson sitting irksomely straight atop his head, and Daryl was nearly blinded by a piece of brass pinned to his vest that had no business being as shiny as it was.

Merle had just come downstairs from fucking Andrea who was already chatting up another client. He sure did like his blondes. Beth was lounging on the piano in the center of the bar singing a raunchy little ditty—blue eyes burning into Daryl like always—while Bob played along. She’d have more business if she spent half as much time fussing over their customers as she did a very disinterested Daryl.

Abe was dealing cards at the blackjack table and Rosita was perched on the arm of his chair providing a nice view down her bustier every time she’d reach over the table to collect the cards and money. They always made more cash when she ‘helped’ out. Carol and Sasha were running drinks, and Daryl had been wiping down the bar until the sheriff walked in and froze him in place with his glacier blue eyes.

Beth must’ve seen him staring and turned her attention on the lawman. When she stopped singing, Bob stopped playing, and when Bob stopped playing mid-song, people tended to take notice.

Merle gave a heavy sigh and stashed his cash back in the lock box. “Great…a new sheriff we gotta run out of town.”

The lawman cleared his throat, “Can I have everybody’s attention for a moment?”

He didn’t really have to ask, he already had it.

“ ‘M Sheriff Rick Grimes and I’ll be takin’ over for Sheriff Hershel. As some of ya’ll might already know, _someone_ put a snake in his boot and they had ta amputate.”

A few eyes floated over to Merle, but in his defense, he was kind of drunk that night and it wasn’t like it was a deadly species. He’d heard that it was more of a bad reaction to the venom on account of the ol’ man’s age. Of course, out in the Wild West a splinter could kill you if you weren’t careful, but at least he wasn’t in the bone orchard. Good for Merle too because he kind of liked his neck the way it was, in one piece.

“As long as ya’ll stay in line an’ follow the letter of the law, we won’t have us any problems, but if you’re thinkin’ ya can run me off like the last couple a’ sheriffs that have come through here, you’re sadly mistaken.”

“An’ if ya don’t try ta interfere with our business, _we_ won’t have no problems with you,” Merle snarled, hand curling around the rifle they kept under the bar.

“Why don’t ya remove your hand from that shootin’ iron,” Grimes challenged, and Daryl hadn’t noticed until right then that the sheriff’s hand was already gripping his revolver. Damn, that guy was smooth.

Merle pulled a face but let go of the gun and waved both hands around dramatically. “Ain’t gotta be an addle-pot about it. We’s jus’ two brothers tryin’ ta carve out a livin’. We ain’t tryin’ ta raise sand. But yer ruinin’ the atmosphere, so ’m gonna have ta ask ya ta leave,” he turned to spit some chaw into a nearby spittoon, eyes never leaving the sheriff’s, “ ‘cept I ain’t askin’.”

“What my brother’s tryin’ ta say is, why don’t ya sit down and have a drink on us,” Daryl interjected, cutting the tension that was starting to build. The last thing he wanted was a damn shootout in their bar.

“Stop being such a boot licker,” Merle huffed.

Daryl wanted to lick something all right, but it weren’t the man’s boots. And by the way Rick had turned his attention on Daryl when he spoke had him thinking he might get to have a go at it. His brother wasn’t going to like it, not with all the whores they had on hand, but everybody knew—except for maybe Beth—that Daryl wasn’t one for the ladies.

Rick sauntered up to the bar, eyes as cool as a rocky mountain stream and honed right in on Daryl. “No thanks, just some Adam’s ale.”

“We done with introductions, Sheriff Friendly? I got work ta do.”

Rick nodded.

Merle glowered at him. He didn’t like the way this new Sheriff was eyeing his baby brother. But that could work to his advantage later on, so he was going to leave it alone for now. He grabbed the lock box and started for the office, turning to yell towards Beth, “Sing us somethin’, li’l songbird!”

Once Merle was gone, and the sheriff was seated at the bar, the music started and things went back to normal.

“Sure I can’t get ya a drink?” Daryl offered again, his attempt at making up for his brother’s lack of hospitality.

“I don’t drink on duty,” Rick said.

Daryl reached for a clean glass so he could get the man some water. “Maybe ya should come back when you ain’t.” He tried not to look smug when Rick pulled the watch out of his breast pocket and checked the time.

His mouth watered as he watched the parched sheriff take a few big gulps from his glass, his throat undulating in an enticing display that had Daryl inching forward unconsciously until he was leaning halfway over the bar. Rick lowered his glass and used the back of his hand to wipe the excess from his lips, slowing when he drew a knuckle over the bottom one. And Daryl wanted to trace the path with his tongue.

“Your brother always like that?”

Daryl straighten from where he’d been slouching across the bar, ignoring the little quirk of the sheriff’s pink lips, “He’s all talk, no bite.”

“Jus’ likes playin’ with thangs that do.”

“That snake weren’t him,” Daryl defended. So what if he lied to the sexy-as-sin sheriff? He was horny, but that wasn’t going to make him snitch. And it wasn’t like Merle shot the sheriff. Well, not Sheriff Greene anyway.

“Uh huh,” he grunted with a roll of his eyes. Daryl tried not to find it so endearing. “An’ what about you? You all talk an’ no bite?”

Okay, maybe he lied about not being a snitch because the way Rick’s eyes darkened as he asked had him debating on whether or not to tell him about every crooked plan Merle ever had in hopes Rick would throw him a bone. Or maybe something else long and hard.

“Nah, the opposite.”

Rick cast his eyes downward where they honed in on his lips when he sucked in his bottom one and gave it a nibble. Rick fidgeted on his stool, and Daryl was glad he was standing behind the bar because his trousers were starting to tighten in places that would’ve been pretty fucking obvious otherwise.

Daryl cleared his throat then tried to clear his mind by focusing on the drink order Sasha put in. “So what brings ya this far out west?” he asked after he got her squared away.

“Some deep yearnin’ for adventure.”

Daryl scoffed. He wasn’t buying that bullshit anymore than Rick was buying his. Only two reasons anyone moved out west: to escape their problems or to strike it rich. And from what he’d seen neither actually worked.

“Killed the man who killed my wife. Boss suggested I start over somewhere more suited to my propensity for usin’ a gun ta settle problems.”

“What’d you say?”

“Nothin’, shot him too. It was just a graze, but he had a point.”

Daryl smirked at the way his eyes turned warm at the memory. He was a pretty damn good judge of character and Rick didn’t seem half bad to him, what with shooting lawmen and all. In fact, it kind of made him like him even more. It wasn’t every day that someone strolled into the Double D Saloon that could go toe to toe with Merle.

Daryl left him to his drink for a moment so he could refill glasses for a few of their other customers. He could feel the sheriff watching him as he worked, and if he bent over to grab a full bottle off a lower shelf instead of the half full one at hip level, well it was his bar dammit! When he was done, he reached for the trademarked red rag stuffed in his back pocket and started to wipe down the bar.

“Well iffen ya have ta shoot my brother, I’d appreciate it if ya did it in his ass. He’s a big enough pain in mine as it is. Turnabout’s fair play.”

Rick polished off the last of his water and handed the glass to Daryl. “You ain’t gonna back ‘im up?”

“Guess it depends on how much of an ass he’s bein’ that day,” Daryl chuckled, taking it from his hand, fingers brushing, and putting it with the dirty dishes for Maggie to clean later.

“Hey sugar, ya lookin’ for someone ta show ya ‘round town?” Beth cut in.

Daryl rolled his eyes. He had a feeling she had only come over to get closer to him. She ran the back of her fingers across the side of Rick’s neck and down his arm all the while her heated gaze was focused on Daryl. He figured she was trying to make him jealous as usual. And it worked, but not how she planned. 

Rick looked over at her big doe-eyes, and Daryl prayed he wouldn’t partake in her company. “Nah, ‘m good. Got my deputy showin’ me the ropes.”

He felt more than slightly relieved, and only a little guilty. She was trying to make a living after all, but it was his bar dammit! He got first dibs on all the insanely hot ass that walked in. 

“Michonne’s nice an’ all,” Beth said, saccharine sweet as she leaned into Rick, “But how ‘bout we go upstairs then, an’ I give ya a warm West a’ Woodbury welcome?”

Daryl held back a growl, but just barely, when Rick took a stuttered breath. He knew Beth must’ve given his twig-n-berries a good squeezin’. But Rick wasn’t looking at her when his cool eyes went white hot. No, he was staring at Daryl who had half a mind to drag him upstairs and plant a Dixon flag all over that mighty fine ass of his.

“Sorry, darlin’. Ain’t interested in what yer sellin’,” Rick said, taking her wrist and removing it.

Andrea came up at that point asking for a beer for the client she was working. But Beth kept at it. “Coulda fooled me with the size of that python in yer trousers. And for a handsome gentleman like you, first ride’s free.”

“Python’s on his hip,” Daryl couldn’t help but add. Rick’s eyes crinkled at the edges with a smile, and he felt accomplished for putting it there.

That’s when Rick turned away from him, breaking eye contact. He watched Rick’s eyes sweep over her intricately made bodice, black with gold lace trim and matching embroidery, but it seemed to be done more out of curiosity than wanton desire. She was pretty enough, Daryl could admit, but she just wasn’t his type, and apparently not Rick’s either.

“Give it up, girl,” Andrea sighed when Daryl slid over the beer she requested. “You clearly don’t have what he wants to be riding.” Daryl wanted to jump over the bar and strangle her when she winked at him, but he resisted committing murder in front of the town’s new lawman. 

“What’s that supposed ta mean?” Beth asked.

“Care to explain that one to her, Daryl?”

If Daryl had to answer, he thought he’d try to kill two birds with one stone. And there was nothing like a little Walt Whitman to bring out the gay. He thought he was reading the signs right, but there were rules out here, unspoken ones, and they had to be followed. “Not I, not any one else can travel that road for you, you must travel it for yourself.” 

His insides went mushy when Rick’s eyes snapped back to his and he recited the next line of the poem, “It is not far, it is within reach, perhaps you have been on it since you were born and did not know.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Beth asked, gawking at them like they had sprouted two more heads apiece.

“Means they jus’ got engaged,” Carol snickered from behind the bar where she’d taken it upon herself to refill her tables’ drinks. Both men ducked their heads once they realized the rest of the world hadn’t stopped around them. But thank fuck they were on the same page.

Andrea put her arm around Beth’s shoulder and started to lead her away, “Oh Bethy, you still got a lot to learn.”

Rick stood up from his stool blushing crimson, “I should probably be gettin’ back to work. I got a few more establishments I gotta check on before Deputy Michonne comes on duty.”

“That drink’s a standin’ offer. Jus’ so’s ya know,” Daryl said.

Rick tugged on the brim of his hat and gave a little nod before he started for the door. Maybe next time he came in, he wouldn’t be wearing his duster, because it was a damn shame that Daryl couldn’t make out his ass buried under all that fabric as he walked away.

*****

Business wasn’t too busy for mid-evening, but Glenn was late for his shift as usual, having been busy with Maggie upstairs. Their regulars were in their regular spots and Daryl had just finished pouring Aaron and Eric a shot of whiskey. He’d spent a lot of wild nights in their bed, but that had tapered off once they got bachelor married. He didn’t mind, they were ridiculously in love.

Besides, he kinda had his eye on someone else now. 

It had been a few days since Rick had introduced himself in the bar, but they’d made eyes at each other around town. Merle kept giving him a hard time about it saying they had enough whores that he didn’t need to go chasing the sheriff’s coattails, but it was what was underneath them that he was interested in. Merle turned at little green at that but dropped the subject.

Daryl was taking inventory when Merle’s voice rumbled behind him, “This some sorta shakedown, _Sheriff Grimes_?” He turned to see Rick sliding onto a stool looking just as sexy as the first time he’d swaggered in.

“Jus’ came in for a gut warmer not ta stir up any trouble.”

Daryl begged to differ on the stirring up trouble because some was brewing in his pants at the thought of warming Rick up good, albeit with something other than whiskey. 

“We don’t give discounts ta lawmen, jus’ so’s ya know,” Merle scowled.

“Ya don’t give discounts ta anyone, Merle, ya tight ass,” Daryl said, elbowing him out of the way so he could put two shot glasses down in front of Rick.

Just then, Eugene came charging up to the bar, “Merle, Philip’s cheating at cards again.”

Merle took off like a fire had been lit under him at the prospect of losing money, huffing under his breath, “That boy’s as dead as a can a’ corned beef!” 

Daryl rolled his eyes and poured him and Rick a shot of whiskey, grateful for the respite. “Any chance ya didn’t hear that?”

“Hear what?” Rick winked before they threw back their shots, both wincing when the burn hit the back of their throats.

“How ya likin’ West so far?” Daryl asked, his cheeks warming when Rick’s eyes flitted over him, and he didn’t bother blaming it on the drink. 

“Scenery’s pretty nice. Most folks are pretty hospitable. Everyone’s been offerin’ me free rides around town an’ such...friendly place.”

Daryl poured them another shot as he wondered who he was going to have to threaten to keep their paws off him. Rick held up his glass and Daryl mirrored, “What shall we toast to?”

“To Leaves of Grass.”

“To Leaves of Grass.”

Rick put his glass down and smirked, “One of my favorites.”

“And let us hasten forth, wonderful cities and free nations we shall fetch as we go.”

“If you tire, give me both burdens, and rest the chuff of your hand on my hip, and in due time you shall repay the same service to me.”

Carol rolled her eyes at Andrea as they both attended to the customers Daryl had forgotten, “They’re back to the poetry again.”

Andrea chuckled before yelling, “Hey boys, why don’cha go on up an’ get a room. Number 2’s free. Glenn just finished tidying up.”

“Fuck off, Andrea,” Daryl scowled.

“It is kinda loud in here,” Rick said, “Is it quieter upstairs?”

Not if Daryl got his way. “Yeah, ‘s pretty quiet.”

Rick flashed him a devilish smile and stood. Daryl didn’t have to be told to follow. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey and flipped Andrea and Carol off when they started catcalling. Then he was following Rick up the oak staircase, his palms starting to sweat and his heart picking up steam.

“Where tha hell’s my baby brother?” he heard Merle holler just as they reached the top.

***

No sooner than the door was shut and locked behind them—and the whiskey safely placed on a nearby table—did Rick pin him against the wood. Then lips were on his, hard and heavy with a hint of alcohol, the beginnings of a beard rough on his face. He took off Rick’s Stetson and flung it on the bed, peeling off his duster and reaching for that ass with both hands to grind their hips together. 

They undid their belts, Rick’s gun falling on the floor with a thud, and kicked off boots and shucked their shirts as they made their way to the bed. The mattress had seen a lot of use but was surprisingly comfortable, so it was like falling back onto a cloud when Rick pushed him down on it and striped him of his trousers. His dick was throbbing and he whimpered when Rick licked his lips as he eyed it like it was water in a drought. 

He hit his knees and spread Daryl’s so he could move in close, then he got straight to the point, pulling down his foreskin and sucking him into his mouth. It was hot and wet and sloppy like it had been awhile since he had a cock in his mouth, but Daryl was a-okay with that. Rick licked a path up the underside of his cock then plunge so far down his shaft that he choked. He eventually hit his stride and had a good rhythm going...until there was a knock at the door.

_“Daryl, ya better get yer ass out here right now and stop foolin’ around with that pig!”_

“It’s like you’re always saying, Merle. We ‘Dixons always ‘fuck the law’ one way or another.’”

 _“Come on now, this ain’t funny,”_ Merle whined as he banged on the door. _“Don’t make me take this door down. I’ll do it!_

“Keep it down, Dixon, or I’ll have ta take ya in for disturbin’ the peace,” Rick snickered.

_“Bes’ not touch my brother, ya asshole.”_

“Too late,” Rick singsonged. 

_“ ‘M bein’ serious! What about Andrea? I’ll send her up here for ya, Friendly. She’s our finest whore. Now, I know what yer thinkin’ but, she only looks like a rug muncher. Or how ‘bout Beth or another one a’ our other calico queens?”_

“Jus’ ignore ‘im an’ he’ll go away,” Daryl said.

“Ya sure?” Rick asked.

“All bark, ‘member?”

Rick grinned and stood so he could step out of his pants. “Want a ride ya then.”

His cock was hard and thick, a bit shorter than Daryl’s and curved just a tad to the right. Precome was beading and shimmering in the light of the kerosene lamp, but the tip, pink and peeking out of the hood of his foreskin, looked so fucking delicious that Daryl just had to have a fucking taste before they went any further. “Wanna suck ya first.”

Rick smiled wide and that was good enough for him. They switched places and Daryl started lapping up the moisture from the head with ginger licks. He gave a few strokes down the length of him with a hand then sucked the foreskin into his mouth as he rolled Rick’s balls in this palm. There were fingers fisting in his hair when he pulled back to work the tip of his tongue into the hood, swirling it around the silken head before going back to mouth along the shaft. 

Daryl could’ve spent hours teasing and playing with the stretchy skin, but he also wanted a piece of that ass. He stopped long enough to reach into the drawer where they kept a bottle of oil for such occasions, then went back to sucking sheriff’s dick while he opened him up. He took his time though, because he wasn’t sure if he’d get another chance. 

“Would ya quit squirmin’,” Daryl teased when Rick nearly jumped when he found his prostate. “Don’t make me calf rope ya now.”

“I don’t usually bring the ropes out until the second date.”

Daryl was about to die at that, his aching balls were going to be the death of him. “Ready?”

“Hell yeah.”

He climbed up on the bed and Rick positioned himself over him. Just as he was about to settle down onto of his waiting cock, Daryl stopped him. “Wait! Yer hat.”

“What about it?”

“Want ya wearin’ it,” he said, reaching for it and handing it to Rick.

Rick took it and put it on. “ ‘S been awhile since I rode a bull.”

“Well, come on then, sheriff, le’s see what ya got.”

What he had was pretty damn majestic. He rode Daryl’s cock like he was born to the saddle, body rippling with every crack of his hips. And there was no doubt in Daryl’s mind that he could break a stallion in one go with the way his body rocked and slid up and down the length of him. Daryl ran his hand up the perfect line of his torso, fingers tangling in his chest hair, before tweaking a pebbled nipple that had the sheriff yelling out a curse.

“Ya look amazin’ like this,” Daryl said. Every gorgeous inch of him did.

Rick’s lips curved into an impish smile, darkened eyes glowing in the lamp light, “It’s a damn shame. Really thought you’d give me more of a challenge.”

“ ‘S’at so, Grimes?”

“ ‘M lookin’ for a stallion not a Shetland.” 

Daryl let out a growl at that and started driving his hips upward, fucking into him as Rick picked up speed, his body thrashing wildly above. Yeah, Daryl was going to die. This man was going to ride him right up to the gates of Heaven, or maybe hell, and he wouldn’t care either way just so long as he got to keep the memory.

Rick took off his Stetson and waved it above his head, “Yeehaw! Stud me, stallion.”

As corny as that was, it sounded pretty perfect in the moment. Or maybe it was just the sight of Rick’s body withering on his that had him shooting his seed inside him. Rick reached down and curled his long fingers around himself and Daryl watched through half hooded eyes as he jacked himself to completion, warm ropes of come spiraling like lassos on his stomach. 

Rick collapsed beside him on the bed, and they laid silent for a moment while sweat cooled their heated bodies. Then he turned on his side to look at Daryl and was kind enough to wipe his come off Daryl’s stomach with the edge of the sheet. “I do believe that was that best ride I’ve ever had.” 

Daryl smirked back, “You’re in luck then ‘cause this rodeo’s jus’ gettin’ started.”

“Good thing ya snagged us some booze then.” Rick slipped off the bed and padded over to the table to grab the bottle of whiskey. He unscrewed the cap and took a big swig, and Daryl would’ve been transfixed by that if it wasn’t for the sight of his come glittering as it trickled down Rick’s leg. 

“Would ya get your ass over here so I can clean you up now?”

Rick narrowed his eyes, “Don’t think I can do it myself?”

“Nah, I was jus’ gonna use my tongue.”

*****

Moments earlier, Merle was fiddling with his keys looking for the master when he saw Shane sneaking up the back stairs. “Oh hell no, Walsh! You’ve been banned,” he said, charging him.

“ ‘M a payin’ customer...half the time,” Shane scoffed, but Merle already had him by the collar and was dragging him down the hall.

“Bullshit! No freeloaders in my saloon. Ya wanna get yer dick wet, ya pay or do it on Andrea’s dime not mine. She’s my top whore an’ every time ya fuck her, I lose money.”

“Come on, Merle, I’ll pay this time. I swear...say, is that Daryl I hear? How much is he?”

Merle twisted him around and got in his face, his voice going cold, “Now you listen here, Walsh, an’ ya listen good ‘cause I’m only gonna tell ya this once...my baby brother ain’t for sale. And if you even think about touchin’ him, I’ll castrate ya with a rusty knife. Understood?”

Shane nodded and rolled his eyes as Merle loosened his grasp.

“I don’t know, Merle,” Carol smirked as she came out of one of the rooms where she was dropping off some fresh linens, “Think the Sheriff might do that for ya. Did ya hear he shot his boss?”

“ ‘S’at so?” 

Well, he still didn’t like him, but maybe he wasn’t as bad as Merle originally thought. Of course, that line of thinking went out the window when he walked back past room 2 and heard the sound of squeaky springs and the Sheriff’s shouts. All he could do was shake his head at the punch line that had now become his life.

_A Sheriff walks into a bar...an’ ends up screwin’ my brother._

**Author's Note:**

> Here is a pretty good article about gays and the [wild west](http://www.truewestmagazine.com/homos-on-the-range/) if you're interested. It's pretty long, but apparently the concept of gay marriage (bachelor marriages as they were called) were accepted back in the 1800's. Also, there was a code to finding other men who were interested in gay sex. Usually this was done quoting Walt Whitman who also had a propensity for gentlemen suiters. 
> 
> The twentieth century led to sooo many huge steps backwards in terms of progress. Which is quite a shame. It was uncommon to be circumsiced (which I find to be a pretty barbaric practice, get your shit together America) up until about the turn of the century as well unless you were Jewish or Muslim. It came about as a way to 'cure' masturbation and lots of other bullshit then somehow made it's way into medical texts. Here the [wiki](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_male_circumcision) on the history if you're interested. 
> 
> I also did some visual "research" on uncut dicks but I won't link those. xp And thanks to Sheenaz for helping me out with the realism on that since I'm a sad American who's never known the joys of foreskin. TMI? _sigh_ The things I do for art.
> 
> Anyway, can you tell I'm a history major?
> 
> Poem used: _Leaves of Grass_ by Walt Whitman.  
>  Cowboy slang from [here.](http://www.legendsofamerica.com/we-slang.html)


End file.
